The Kenosha telegraph. [volume] (Kenosha, Wis.) 1860-1888, 1887-03-11


fixed upon the stage, and a shining
cloud of floating golden hair. This
constant spectator was, as / had been
told, the Princess Sophia Orlanoff, a
great heiress and a great lady, but ter
ribly crippled and deformed. Her at
tendants used to carry her in and out
of her box at the different theaters, her
favorite recreation- being music and
the drama.
She was still quite young-twenty-
five or thereabouts-I learned, and she
inhabited one wing of the great Orlan-
off palace, under the guardianship of
her uncle, Prince Michael Cola
Baretti took quite an interest IN this
unfailing patroness of our theater,
having soft heart for any thing that
was weak and suffering; and used to
think sometimes that our splendid
Claudius had something to do with her
unfagging interest in our perform
ances. At all events she used to APP
plaud his best points with all fervor
possible to a pair of small and slender
white hands. and when he was on the
stage her opera-glass seldom left her
eyes. He got into the way, at last, of
playing to her, in measure, so appre-
ciative was her applause and so earnest
her attention. He used to say, for in
stance: "The Princess must have been
pleased tonight with my acting in the
last scene;" or, 81 did not recite the
Hymn to Hymer as well as usual this
evening, for the Princess failed to ap-
plaud it." She became thus, as it
were. the barometer of this talent.
| think the time has now come for
giving the true reason for our failure
to give Hamlet" in St. Petersburg as
we had promised, on the withdrawal
of "The Martyrs" with Cola Baretti
as the melancholy Dane. 1t is just as
well that the public should learn that
neither I nor the director were in any
way to blame for disappointing the
subscribers, who were naturally
anxious to see Baretti in a more prom
inent part than that of Claudius. And,
indeed, 1 only learned the whole story
from him the other day, when / went
to visit him in Milan.
This is what he told me:
One gloomy afternoon, shortly after
we had given up playing 1.-The
Martyrs" he found waiting FOR him at
the stage-door, at the close of the first
rehearsal of Hamlet" a servant-girl,
who iut into his hands sealed note.
1t contained these few words only,
without signature or address:
''As you value your life. and if you desire to
soothe the last moments of dying woman, fol-
low the bearer of this letter. For the love of
Heaven come"
Cola tried to question the girl, but
could get no answer from her, and, in
fact, she seemed incapable of under
standing either French or Italian.
Many men would have hesitated before
deciding to obey so mysterious sum-
mons, but Cola was as brave as q lion,
besides which there was something in
the tone of the few words of the epistle
that bore the ring of sincerity. So he
followed his guide through the gather
ing gloom of the evening till they stood
before the great Orlanoff palace.
Turning to the west wing, the girl led
him swiftly up a side staircase, and
opening door on the second floor,
which she instantly closed behind him
as he entered, he found himself in the
presence of the Princess Sophia. He
recognized her instantly, though she
lay on couch beside table which
bore single lamp, the shade of which
was so arranged as to leave her figure
in obscurity while throwing its full
luster on any one approaching her. But
there was no mistaking the slight form
in its wrappings of ermine, and the
mist of golden hair that fioated around
the pale, delicately featured counte-
nance. The room was large and lofty,
and hung with tapestry. On a low
stand was placed box of water-colors
and an unfinished miniature portrait, in
which Baretti, with surprise, recog-
nized his own features. Beside the
Princess, on the table near her couch,
were two objects, a packet of papers
bound with ribbon and a solitary and
empty wineglass.
She looked up as he advanced He
paused as he came within the circle of
radiance cast by the shaded lamp, and
she gazed upon him for some moments
without speaking.
$50 you have obeyed my summons,
Cola Baretti," she said. at last. 81
thank Heaven for thatr'
Her glance rested with mournful in
tensity upon the broad brow beneath
its clustering chestn ut curls, the full,
dark eyes, the features fine and firmly
outlined as those of an antique bust,
the noble and symmetrical figure.
"They lied to me who said that your
beauty was born of the cosmetics of the
stage and the glow of the footlights.
My fair hero-how well some woman
will love you long after am dust and
ashes! Come closer, Baretti- near
me-there, where the light falls fullest.
l would look upon you while yet 1 may
do so. And / have something to tell
you, and though the tale is not long
one, l have little time in which to tell
it"
81 am here to do your bidding, Prin-
cess" he answered, as he seated HIM
self in the place she indicated.
"You have seen me at the theater,
Cola, and Doubtless know who 1 am
the Princess Sophia Orlanoff. the richest
heiress in Russia, and the shame and
burden of the powerful family to which
l belong, by reason of my bodily in
tirmities. By my fathers death l, a
deformed cripple, came into the pos
session of the hereditary estates of our
race. My uncle, Prince Michael, has
long conceived the plan of retaining
my wealth in the family by uniting me
in marriage to his son Paul. To this
project l have ever returned a per-